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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29365536">"There is a solitude of space"</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicaV/pseuds/SpicaV'>SpicaV</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: The Next Generation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Grief/Mourning, M/M, Male Friendship, New Family, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Vulcan, Vulcan Culture, Vulcan Language</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 13:20:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,040</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29365536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicaV/pseuds/SpicaV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Borg Invasion of 2381 Taurik is left a widower and has to make a choice: does he continue his career in Starfleet or return home to Vulcan to raise his daughter Talys? His best friend Sam Lavelle travels with him and helps him arrive at a choice. The two men find their relationship evolving into something new as they parent Talys and navigate the new reality in which they live. Post-canon TNG, references the TNG novel Losing the Peace. This story is romantic in nature and rated mature for themes of grief and the loss of a child.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sam Lavelle/Taurik</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Lak’tra — Grief</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This work is a part of my related series, Gemini, (Shirshos'im), Kokai'lar, and Burning Bright, in that order. Also loosely references the licensed Star Trek: The Next Generation novel, Losing the Peace. After writing Talys in three of my works I couldn't leave her to die, so she lives in this splinter from the Beta canon universe.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There is a solitude of space</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A solitude of sea</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A solitude of death, but these</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Society shall be</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Compared with that profounder site</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That polar privacy</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A soul admitted to itself —</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finite infinity.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>— Emily Dickinson</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Night aboard the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enterprise,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and though the lights had dimmed and the subtlety of raised moisture levels cooled the air, the mood aboard the ship remained tense. Reports from across the Alpha Quadrant trickled in; the Borg’s coordinated but ultimately futile attack on the Homeworlds had compounded the refugee crisis that had risen during the Dominion War several years earlier, and worlds that had been previously settled and at peace were either hemorrhaging or destroyed entirely. Risa, Deneva, Andoria, Vulcan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lieutenant Sam Lavelle opened his black uniform jacket and let it hang wide, pulled the collar of his red command shirt open. He listed with a psychosomatic limp, remnant of a leg injury that he had acquired during the Dominion War. It always surfaced when emotions were high. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glared at a passing ensign without meaning to, felt a hot bolt of guilt as she ducked her head and darted past him. Poor kid. Still wet behind the ears and pulling morgue duty in Cargo Bay Two, by the looks of her. Everyone that came out of that situation had the same haunted look after hours of tagging, bagging, and assembling information to send off to various homeworlds. Dear Madam, Sir, Gentlebeing, your child died aboard the </span>
  <em>
    <span>USS Essex,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mira,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Valley of the Fountain on Chennor. Sam paused a moment to apologise to the young woman, but she was gone, only the click of her boots echoing down the corridor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused a moment before the door on the starboard side. The panel to the right glowed with a faint amber light. Locked, save for those with the key. He was one of two aboard the Enterprise that possessed the genetic code that would allow him to enter. Granted, the quartermaster or the senior crew could as well in times of emergency, but now…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go </span>
  <em>
    <span>in,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you coward,” he whispered to himself, not caring if anyone overheard him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, head tilted to the side, he strained to hear what he could from inside the cabin. Silence. He sighed and pressed his thumb to the panel. The door slid open to darkness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Heat swallowed him as he stepped in and the door closed, the air deep and dry, a halo of stars visible through the narrow ceiling porthole. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enterprise-D</span>
  </em>
  <span> had been far roomier than her </span>
  <em>
    <span>E</span>
  </em>
  <span> iteration was, and Sam missed the large windows that had once been afforded to ranks Lieutenant and above. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Little by little, his eyes adjusted and everything limned with starlight silver. The shelves, desk, candle holders, a glitter of tapestry on the wall and orchids blooming in one corner. The bed rack, the contours of his friend lying still on top of the sheets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Taurik?” He asked, wincing against the preternaturally loud sound of his voice in the small space. No answer. The Vulcan did not stir. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What if he was sleeping? Sam winced and walked with silent feet around the other side of the rack. Taurik’s skin glimmered, one wrist upturned and hand hanging over the edge of the bed, head pillowed on his arm, eyes open. Sam could see the glitter of them even without light. Slow, steady breathing showing too shallow for sleep. Taurik was awake, just not moving nor deigning to respond. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Sam knelt at his friend’s side and dared to brush the back of his fingers against Taurik’s wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik shifted slightly, his eyes locking to Sam’s as he crouched close. Even in this dim light Sam could see the deep smudges ringing beneath the Vulcan’s eyes, the chapped lips, the hollowness to his cheeks showing emerging symptoms of malnutrition. It wasn’t that Taurik wouldn’t eat, only that he had to have someone to direct him to do so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How is it?” Sam asked, resisting the urge to smooth Taurik’s hair back into place, for the black bangs clumped over his forehead. Lying on the pillow too much, no attention to hygiene, neglect of self. “How are you feeling?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nominal,” Taurik said. Voice strained. Rusty. As if corrosion were setting in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bullshit.” Sam stood and encouraged Taurik to sit, standing back to let the other man swing his legs over the side of the bunk. “Hop in the shower while I call up dinner. That’s an order.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik complied, stripping off his uniform jacket and gold Engineering shirt, letting them fall to the floor in a careless heap. He turned and began tugging his trousers open even as he walked to the head, kicked them out into the main cabin just before the door closed. The sonic shower hummed. Sam shook his head and gathered the clothes, unpinned the rank pips and communications badge, placed them in a pottery tray marked with hands from two little Vulcan boys. Taurik had adhered to the traditional Vulcan modesty for much of their friendship, waiting for Sam to leave the cabin outright before showering or changing from his uniform to meditation robes. Now, most of his personal habits seemed to lay obliterated and scattered as his uniform had been. The sonic shower snapped off, and Sam turned to the dining area, in part so that he wouldn’t see Taurik nude if he decided to step from the bath sans robe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which he had done once already. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn kid,” Sam whispered to himself as he called up a pot of shek-tukh tea. Felt a tug of grief, affection, exasperation, love. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He and Taurik had known one another for twelve years now, meeting long ago in Starfleet Academy and finagling their way into sharing quarters when they were ensigns assigned to Starfleets’s flagship. They had been through much together. The death of Sito Jaxa. The loss of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enterprise-D,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Dominion War, his son Jackson’s death and his divorce from Aisha Bilal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The death of their son had proved too much for their marriage, and they went their separate ways with love and regret. He still spoke to Aisha often; she was his best friend, aside from Taurik. She had a new husband now, a Denobulan man and two fellow wives who were like sisters to her. No children yet, for Aisha had been born male and the technology of combining transgendered-chromosome DNA between Humans and Denobulans was yet in its infancy. Her new husband was relentlessly optimistic, a trait that Sam admired. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik, more traditional in his youth than Sam had ever been, had married L’Del, to whom he had been bonded. Talys, their daughter, had followed. A serious slip of a girl, her father’s features softened and feminine, her mother’s unruly hair that she preferred to blow free in harsh desert winds. Painter, stargazer, a master at skee-ball. Sam had adored her from the moment she was born, making a point to visit Taurik and his small family at Mars Colony as soon as duty had allowed. L’Del had received him with reserved politeness, but he could tell that she wished him away. Sam had worried that there had been some breach of etiquette in his coming so soon, but Taurik had brushed these concerns aside. Claimed him family. Used honorifics with Sam that confirmed him as friend and brother, loved, even cherished. In his own quarters, he yet kept the holograph that Taurik had taken of him and infant Talys, standing under the firefalls in Deimos Gardens. The girl-baby in his arms grasping his thumb and regarding the camera with a regal air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam flinched when Taurik suddenly materialized at his elbow. Robe crooked on his shoulders and half open, but at least tied at the waist. He stared at the table unseeing, though the pot of tea steamed and twin candles glowed over bowls of tom chuet soup. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“T?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sam.” Taurik slid into his seat and made no move to eat until Sam physically placed a spoon in his hand. He moved silently, graceful, but with hollow eyes and a vacant expression that made Sam’s heart ache.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>L’Del had died in the Borg attack on Vulcan. That was the long and the short of it. Gone, like over four million others in the region just west of Shi’Kahr. The Borg had obliterated the city from Sher Skah Quarter to the outskirts of V’Pret. Left a smoking crater with entire Houses gone and no bodies left to mourn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if they had never been. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been ship’s morning when the attack on Vulcan occured, and Alpha shift had been hurrying to take command from Gamma. A delicate operation in time of invasion. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enterprise</span>
  </em>
  <span> had been en route to Risa, Captain Picard’s voice harsh over the intercom, when Sam had slammed into his seat at ops support. Taurik should have been in Engineering already, but twenty minutes into shift Chief Engineer LaForge had called Sam’s station and asked him where the Vulcan was. Internal sensors still had him in his quarters. Find someone to fill in, Lavelle, go find that kid and get him to Engineering, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stat.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik’s quarters had been dark and silent when Sam sprinted in and stood dead center, looking for his friend. He had found Taurik kneeling in the middle of the dining area, table pushed to the side and meditation mat still unfurled. Taurik had looked up at Sam with horror and grief naked on his face. Gutting, to see a stoic Vulcan reduced to such vulnerability. Sam had felt, deep in his bones, that something had been wrong from the moment he had woken. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s dead. L’Del,” Taurik had whispered. Shivering. He had clutched at his head with clawing hands. “I felt her die.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam had called Sickbay, but there had been little that Dr. Crusher could do other than relieve Taurik of duty and offer sedatives; Dr. Selar had transferred to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nance</span>
  </em>
  <span> six months prior as CMO.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There is little in the Starfleet medical database for Vulcans who have suffered a violently severed bond,” Crusher had said, her cool voice creased by concern. “Mostly, he needs a Healer from Vulcan. The best I can do is give him hypnoxzine, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> will just make him nauseated. It would be best if you stayed with him in his quarters. I have Lieutenant Benga doing the same for T’Nea. Her wife was in Shi’Kahr when…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crusher had trailed off, opening her hand in defeat. Sam had felt sorrow for her; Crucher’s grief and sense of helplessness were obvious. He had complied, escorting dazed Taurik back to his quarters and watching his best friend lay in wounded catatonia. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The battle at Risa had been brief but vicious; rumours had abounded that Picard still had some link to the Borg Collective and yet knew where to strike with deadly aim in spite of Borg adaptations. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Talys?” Sam had asked in a quiet moment. He knew that as a father, Taurik would possess a thin telepathic link to his offspring. “Is Talys alive?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She lives,” Taurik had said into his own hand, with which he had covered his face. “She was with my sister Bal for the summer. In Raal. Pottery center. Sometimes the festival.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Two weeks had improved the disorientation, and Taurik had both sent and received communiques from Vulcan. Spoken with his sisters and mother, spoken with Talys. Sam stepped out of the room whenever the comm signaled a personal call. Roamed Deck 6 for an hour until he was sure that Taurik had enough time to speak with his people.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have been granted leave. One year,” Taurik said suddenly. His soup bowl was empty, so Sam switched it out with his own, yet full. Taurik began to eat again, not tasting anything, moving by habit. “I am going home to Talys.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. That’s good.” Sam curved both hands around a handleless pottery cup. Iron tea, from Vulcan. It reminded him a bit of Thai-style coffee. “You going to stay in Raal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“T’Shara still there, or has she gone to…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ko’psthan Monastery. She left in the spring. She’ll be a novice for three years.” Taurik’s voice took on an ironic twinge, something that set Sam’s heart more at ease. Taurik was critical of his youngest sister’s interest in the mystic order, a sect of Vulcan society that believed that the future could be predicted using methods of logic and probability. Though yet unmarried, T’Shara had been told that her firstborn would be a girl, she would help unite that which had been riven, and that she would one day die in flight under the light of seven moons. “We would live with Bal and Stonn. And my nephews Velekh and Tos. But not my mother. I am talking too much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like it. I’ve been carrying enough conversations along for both of us, lately.” Sam smiled and was rewarded by Taurik’s eyes going soft and warm. Then grief and telepathic pain tightened his features again, and Taurik looked away. Pushed his bowl back and held onto his own cup of tea. “Not that I mind talking for two, either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know this has not been pleasant.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Death never is.” Sam let go of his tea bowl and slid his hand over Taurik’s. “You were with me after Jackson died. Please let me be with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I must point out that you already are.” The usual deadpan humour in Taurik’s voice fell flat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, please let me come with you. To Vulcan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik looked at Sam with his expression shuttered, eyes unreadable as opaque glass. This made Sam’s heart clamp with worry, and he slid his hand away again. Most of the telepathic sensory nerves were in the Vulcan palms and fingertips, but touch to the back of the hand did not preclude telepathic communication. Any link would simply be muted, and he did not want to lend his own worries to his friend. Taurik was already hurt enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” Taurik murmured, almost too soft for Sam to hear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. I would… I would prefer if you came with me. If it will not hurt your career—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck my career,” Sam said, tired and a little hurt that Taurik thought he would weigh his career against his friend’s grief. “I have bereavement leave, same as everyone else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“L’Del was not your wife.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, but you’re my t’hy’la.” Challenge pinged in Sam’s voice as his anger flared. “You’ve been calling me that for years, and I’m still not entirely sure what it means, though I notice it changes your family’s perception of me when you say it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again Taurik fell silent, his expression unreadable. Looked down and appeared to meditate upon the candlelight for a moment before closing his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam glared down into the depths of his own tea. Frustrated with himself. After the Dominion War both he and Taurik had experienced a permanent shortage of temper as a result of the battles and traumas they had experienced. Or witnessed. Commander Troi had counseled them both, sometimes together, sometimes separately. Sam had teased Taurik that it felt as if they were in couples counseling; theirs had long been a close relationship, and Taurik trusted him with things that he told no one else, even L’Del. That he had resented his brother for returning from the Delta Quadrant. That he often grew frustrated with L’Del, whose natural shyness had contained a streak of xenophobia at its core. That he envied his siblings’ marriages, which were better matched than his own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There had to be a fair amount of guilt at L’Del’s death, for Taurik had twice broached to Sam the possibility of divorce in the eight years of his marriage. It had been rumination, frustration that his career in Starfleet caused a natural distance in their relationship that L’Del’s inexperience only compounded. The last time Taurik had been on Vulcan he had spent more time with his sister and daughter than his wife, once they came out of Seclusion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another compound to Taurik’s grief went largely unspoken between them, for L’Del had been several months pregnant with a second little girl. Taurik had already chosen the same Shiri, which was a rough translation of Sam’s own first name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The loss of a child was something with which Sam was intimately familiar. The grief arose not just from the loss of his son, but the severance of </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibility</span>
  </em>
  <span> in Jackson’s brief life. Never would he get beyond toddling from sofa to table. Never would he fingerpaint in school nor learn to read nor pilot a runner past Saturn. There would be no young man coming to his father for relationship advice or handing him his first grandchild. Sam bit his lip as tears swam in his eyes. He scrubbed at them hard with his wrist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He met Taurik’s eyes when he looked up. The Vulcan’s expression had softened again, and he rose to circle the table. Placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder with a wordless gesture of thanks before taking up the empty plates and straightening the table. He even paused to straighten the robe on his shoulders and take a pair of loose pajamas from the wardrobe before going to the head to dress.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you staying?” Taurik asked, now dressed in sand-coloured linen. Still tall and slender with a Vulcan’s usual grace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Sam peeled the uniform from his own shoulders and borrowed pajamas from Taurik’s closet. Black. Like the voids of space. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a few moments of settling in the double bed the two men lay deep within their own thoughts. Grief caused fatigue without sleep, rumination without construct. Taurik grieved for Talys, now motherless. He grieved for L’Del, his home planet. Sam grieved for him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam watched Taurik’s expression flitting with inner emotion that he had not been able to master. In his more lucid moments the Vulcan had explained that a severed marriage bond could cause scarring along the telepathic systems within his brain and nervous system. A Healer with mastery in such treatments could meld with him and correct the damage, but with the recent carnage on Vulcan their expertise would be in high demand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik kept his eyes averted, unfocused. Sam found beauty in his friend’s grief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed and twitched with shame at the thought. Sam had long loved Taurik, but when they were yet in the Academy he had a crush that burned deep. He had never pursued the feeling beyond admiring glances when Taurik was not looking, for he knew that his crushes were careless and fleeting. Taurik had been too special, too dear for him to pursue, for his friendship outweighed Sam’s need for sex. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There had been Taurik’s commitment to Vulcan tradition, his arranged marriage to L’Del. The young Vulcan had several dalliances while in the Academy with Humans, a Bajoran, two Betazoids, and even a brief, calamitous affair with an Andorian man. Ultimately, he never pursued these relationships beyond a season or two, and by the time they had been assigned the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enterprise,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Taurik was on his best behaviour. Almost chaste. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost. Sam knew for a fact that Taurik and Sito Jaxa had one brief encounter before her death. They had parted ruefully, knowing that a relationship was out of the question. But their fondness for one another deepened to the point of real love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had all been a little in love with Jaxa. Alyssa, Ben, Sam. She had been as bright and burning as a star.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik’s breath evened out as he fell asleep, and Sam caressed the sallow cheek with a brush of his fingers, as soft as a kiss. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A’alem — Bitter Salt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The day L’Del died, their marriage bond had screamed with terror. L’Del had clawed at Taurik’s mind for anchor across the reaches of space, and then—nothing. Silence, hollow and cold. This severing had felt physical, an icy, wet snap like breaking bone. He had knelt in his cabin without awareness of the candle burning in front of him or Sam entering the room and drawing him into his arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On autopilot, Sam had said. Taurik had responded when spoken to but did not process what was going on around him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was only four days later that his comprehension set in. That he could process that L’Del was dead and that he had to return home to his daughter. As soon as possible, he had told Sam, who gave him a rueful smile and said that they had already arranged for transportation at Starbase 12. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sudden, unexpected death had always been a hazard for bonded couples; when death came at a slower approach, through age or injury or illness, there was time to prepare the mind for uncoupling. Grief was trauma enough. But violence and despair could shred a telepathic link, dragging the survivor under as a drowning victim might drag a rescuer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik felt as though he were carrying L’Del’s corpse with him, the crippling anguish of her last moments weighing his limbs and slowing his thoughts. Ghosts of places she had been or people she had known traced along the edges of his vision. He would be listening to Sam speak or helping to pack his belongings for the voyage home, then the voice of his father-in-law scolded him for tearing his dress on the saltbush branches. Or L’Del’s music teacher sauntered across the room with a conductor’s glove on her hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>These telepathic echoes were hard to convey to Sam, Human as he was. So Taurik would close his eyes, shut down, concentrate on the cadence of Sam’s voice or the texture of fabric in his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Disassociation, Commander Troi had explained. Both a hazard and a survival method.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik and Sam’s first few weeks on Vulcan felt dreamlike and nightmarish by turns, for the Borg attack had left a bleeding wound in the telepathic web of Vulcankind. The whole planet mourned. Bal and Stonn, his mother T’Sara and step-father Vir had been silent, young Velekh somber. Even little Tos, newborn and small, had regarded the world in silence, only nuzzling into his mother’s breast for milk. Talys clung to Taurik, mute and pliant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam had been bewildered, drawing Taurik aside into their rooms in the family compound. Asked him if the whole planet was like this. When Taurik had answered in the affirmative, Sam had shuddered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think about how our self-inflicted wars affected us in millennia past,” Taurik had said. “We </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> our enemies die.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His propensity for pitch-black humor now lacked the humor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam had only stared at him, face pale, eyes dark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik had left Sam in silence, ashamed and wanting to distance himself from his friend. Grief had always made him angry and sick, rather than sad. He threw punches. He rarely cried. Even for a Vulcan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, early morning, with sunlight feathering through dove-grey clouds, Taurik swam in the warm Voroth Sea. Talys beside him, mute and pulling through the water with her long limbs. Edging toward nine years old. She had grown into the gangly stage that he remembered from his own youth, her eyes losing the luster of early childhood as she grew to master her emotions. Grief now shadowed her face, made her sullen. She rarely spoke, save for brief phrases or inquiries. It hurt his father’s heart to see his child in such pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her life had been upended more than his; Taurik had been gone for most of her early years, out among the stars and at the edges of known space. And though he had been religious about corresponding with his daughter, L’Del had been her world. </span>
  <span>Talys had been her mother’s girl, an artist, painting at her small easel while L’Del practiced for a concert or arranged compositions for the s’yartan flute. She had been looking forward to being a big sister and made a series of abstract watercolors to hang above the baby’s crib. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik closed his eyes for a moment as he swam, distracting the welling grief by feeling the warmth of the shallow sea, the smell of salt in the air. His feet pushed through a cold pocket and he glanced shoreward; a thin rivulet from an underground stream discharged here, and freshwater mingled with salt. Talys did not seem to notice. They pulled into warmer water again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their goal this morning was to swim around Guhl Point and walk the cove back up to the headland, following the sandy path home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had come into adulthood on these shores, while Talys heretofore saw them only as a novelty. Now, three months with her father on-planet, she went with him every day to swim or walk the beaches or explore tide pools. Her somber little face flickered with emotion and unvoiced thoughts. Taurik loved when she leaned her head against his shoulder or offered him a particularly beautiful stone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cove drew into sight as tuffstone cliffs opened to reveal the narrow beach. Taurik reached for Talys in the water and tapped her shoulder, swam ahead, showed her how to make for the shore at an oblique angle that would carry them safely past the shallow breakers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shoal,” he called, warning her about the invisible band of cobbles under the water. He had banged his knees on them many times as a child. Walked home with bruises and blood trickling down his shins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sloshed up onto the beach, a trio of sea birds gossiping and ruffling their grey-white feathers. Similar to Terran cranes, they were sleek and water-borne, though their beaks were turquoise and eyes pitch black. This was their breeding season, and as they rose on slender wings Taurik glimpsed the blue display chevrons on their legs. He and Talys would have to be careful on the upland; the trek’dar would be building their nests of coiled dune grass and tugno’t wool. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik jumped a little as Talys took his hand. Her skin was shriveled after time in the water, and it felt as if he were holding hands with a Cardassian. He glanced down at her, the dark hair dripping with water and her dark blue rash guard suit spangled with silver across the shoulders. Long legs bare, her toenails painted grey by Sam.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reminded him of the Raalian legend of the Mastevau’a, the Drowned-one who swam beneath the waves, looking for her way home. Taurik followed her impassive gaze inland. There was nothing there but the empty cove, sandstone cliffs, and the wind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We made good time today,” he said, just to hear his own voice. “Thirty-one point six minutes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Talys nodded but did not meet his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shivering, disliking the crawling sensation of water trickling down his body, Taurik began walking toward the back of the cove. He tugged at the sleek black swim shorts he had worn, smoothed a hand over the thin hair drying on his chest. After twelve years spent mostly aboard starships he was unaccustomed to the rawness of the outdoors, the thousand small sensations that left him twitching with discomfort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a short scramble, he and Talys stood on the flat plain above the cove. Raal City shone to the south, the hills to the northwest low and covered with twisted cedar, ancestral lands belonging to his Clan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sam will have breakfast ready by the time we return. Are you hungry now?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Talys again shook her head, her eyes on the horizon. The ShiMahra Fortress rose hazy blue against the warming sky, and the smell of smoke from a fire ring drifted in widdershin winds. Taurik knelt. Talys let go of his hand, clambered onto his back. Her arms tightened around his shoulders as he hiked her small body higher.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their swim had been a hard one, but they seemed to help Talys sleep more soundly. Physical exertion helped Taurik too, and her strong little heart thrumming against his back reassured him of her vitality. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Talys’s grip relaxed a little as they walked south, and her sharp chin pressed into his left shoulder. Half asleep, dozing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their natural telepathic bond hummed and dimmed as she relaxed against him, and a faint reverb of amusement tickled through their link. Parental links were not as strong as marriage bonds, which were purposely grown and nurtured. Such cultivation allowed images, sensations, and phrases to transmit from mind to mind. Links between parents and children were inborn; Taurik knew how Talys was feeling in mind and body, but the sensations had no definition. They also lessened as she grew away from her infancy, would grey into her teenage years, and by the time she reached maturity he would be aware of her only if they focused their attention on the link.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sand paths gave way to the shoreline boardwalk, and deserted beaches to scattered groups of people. Two Human women and a Risan man were doing yoga on grass mats. A school swim team dove beneath the breakers with studied grace, and a Kolinahr master strolled with her hands folded into her white sleeves. Talys slid down to walk barefoot beside him, her hand softer now in his. Someone’s sehlat, forbidden from this particular beach, waddled from a shaded pergola where a young family set out plates of sliced slo’fi melon. The youngest child, a toddling girl, called for their pet to come back. The cub-sized animal returned gamely, short tail wagging. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik averted his eyes. The children were both girls, as far apart in age as Talys and Shiri would have been. Their mother called the little one over, and their father offered her kin-kur juice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Where Taurik looked away, Talys lingered, and the eldest girl caught her eye, offered a shy ta’al in greeting. Talys returned the gesture but continued on, her hand squeezing Taurik’s until his fingers ached. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mornin’, starshine.” Sam grinned as they entered their flat. The smell of onions and yu-mur sizzling on the stovetop made Talys’s stomach growl, and she returned Sam’s smile. Shadowed, but with a Vulcan child’s honesty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sa’ku,” Talys said, breaking away and almost scampering to the breakfast table. Taurik watched her go. Shook his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam winked at him as he shrugged the brown robe from his shoulders. Talys had worn her swimsuit home, bare-legged, but modesty had demanded that Taurik wear the robe he had brought out to the dunes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Outside, the sky drained of blue as late spring sun asserted itself in the southern skies. Their flat was in a high rise near the heart of the T’Prana Quarter, and the balcony doors were open to let in the sea breezes blowing from the north. A garland of bright alem’ve fiber flags, similar to Mexican papel picado, fluttered across the railing. Talys’s new passion, paper-making and using vegetable pulp to create dye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold your plate out, Pumpkin, it’s ready.” Sam lifted an iron pan from the stove and brought it to the table. Talys tossed her hair back behind her shoulders and obeyed. Dark eyes impassive once again. Her behaviours switched between that of a child’s and an adolescent's so often.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik left this domestic scene and padded back to the shower, closing his eyes against the water spray as salt and sand washed from his shoulders. Away from Sam and Talys, he could sink into the light meditations as he went about his day, bathing or tidying or drafting engine improvements for the Yelas Ferry Service. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both he and Sam had taken temporary positions with the ferry fleet, which ran residents between Raal City and the Yelas Islands on wave-skimming shuttles. The Islands were a nature preserve with small settlements, the coves to the north prime breeding grounds for toothed melak’ot and krui fish. Sam piloted the shuttles while Taurik worked in maintenance, their schedules aligning so that they could be home with Talys on her days off from school. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reached for the remnants of L’Del’s mind as he bathed. She was mostly gone, the hallucinations mercifully ended. But the inflammation of his telepathic neurons remained, a complication that was also slowly fading under the care of Healer T’Tan, whom he saw every other week. She had melded with him twice in private sessions, and now he joined a led meditation with a group of similarly bereaved spouses. They ranged from the elderly to the newly wed, and though they kept to the traditional Vulcan impassivity, he occasionally caught a glance of mutual sympathy or renewed grief. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Such grief made him reconsider the missive that had arrived from their Clan Mother, T’Zan, two weeks prior; Talys was of age for betrothal, if he so desired. An appended list of appropriate boys (and girls, if his child seemed so inclined) and their lineages followed, along with a personal note that there was no rush for commitment at this time. She would be pleased to see him and Talys at her house for the Equinox holiday. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Nephew,</span>
  </em>
  <span> T’Zan had called him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I grieve with thee and thine child.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik dressed in his dim room while listening to Talys order Sam around in the kitchen. Mortar and pestle? I’ll get the kettle. Let’s see what color these onion skins make, can we, Sa’ku?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lay down on his bed, the deep orange duvet the same one that he had aboard the Enterprise. One of a set that T’Shara had gifted to him and L’Del after their marriage ceremony. The only one that had survived, by the simple virtue of being off-planet when the Borg attacked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik shook his head to rid himself of this train of thought and sat up again, grabbed the padd with all of the potential bondmates whom Talys could marry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>L’Del had been the one to convince him of bonding their daughter when she came of age; she had been waiting for Taurik to return home on paternity leave so that they could sit down and review potential bondmates. She had even highlighted some names from the Mother's list: Alieth, Sotir, Sulen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced through their family trees and saw little genetic overlap, their personal interests—engineering, music, and sculpture, respectively—and found that L’Del seemed to look for matches based on herself, Taurik, or Talys.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sliver of annoyance at this; Taurik did not want to pigeonhole Talys into a narrow band of familiar experience, and indeed had been hesitant to bond her at all. Though Vulcan tradition created some wonderful pairings, he had also seen some marriages that had ended in pain and devastation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sopek, who lived down the corridor, for one. His ex-wife had been a master of the ke-tarya martial arts and rumored to have a flaming temper to match. The rumor continued that Sopek had bruises ringing both eyes when he went to a Healer to dissolve the marriage bond. His second wife, self-chosen, seemed generous and quiet. Taurik had sensed his neighbour’s subtle contentment when he revealed that he and his wife were expecting their firstborn in the autumn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A tap at the door. Taurik hid the padd under his pillow and rolled to sit cross-legged on the bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Enter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam eased the sliding door open, teacup and a plate of pir mah rattling on a copper tray. “Hey. Brought you something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose giving me a full tray of food and drink is a better alternative to reminding me to eat. Again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re welcome!” Sam said, too cheerful, a friendly rebuke hidden in the expression. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Taurik took the tray and made a point to begin eating when Sam lingered. He recognized the love behind Sam’s solicitousness and was grateful. He had to admit that life would be much harder without him there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam flopped into a cream-colored chair in the corner. Barefoot and in board shorts, a wash-worn t-shirt that was once red and had faded into a tired rose. He had tanned under Vulcan’s sun, and his dark hair now bore natural highlights of chestnut. “Talys went off with T’Sehn. Down to the gardens, if that’s alright.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How was the swim?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uneventful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...You are a great conversationalist, Taurik.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I supposed to talk with my mouth full, Sam?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam snorted. “Eh. You have a point.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. I have two.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A moment of appalled silence, and then Sam removed the lumbar cushion and threw it directly at Taurik’s head. The Vulcan snatched it out of the air with a challenging smirk, and then sedately sipped his tea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Foul, sir. I call bull,” Sam laughed in spite of the bad pun and relaxed further into the chair. They regarded each other in silent fondness before Sam sobered. “I’ve been meaning to ask.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence, and he examined his fingertips for a long moment. Taurik knew better than to interrupt. With as quick-witted as Sam could be in lighter moments, he often groped for words when speaking of solemn subjects.<br/></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This place is looking kinda bare.” Sam said finally, gesturing about the room. Sunshades drawn, walls tall and off-white, the bed and chair the only objects in the room besides the holo on the windowsill. Sam holding baby Talys in those long-ago gardens on Mars. “You haven’t unpacked your duffel bag, and we’ve been here since midwinter. So, I’m just asking, are we thinking of staying?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik considered his tea. “‘Are we thinking of staying or returning to Starfleet?’ is the phrasing that I assume you are trying for.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sigh, and Sam ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. That. I didn’t want to be insensitive or seem like I was trying to pressure you, one way or the other.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nor would I think that of you.” Taurik felt tired, his limbs aching from the swim and carrying Talys most of the way home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Coz you’re her world, Taurik. Talys, I mean. I know she’s happy to stay with Bal some weekends, but she needs </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> here.” Sam’s voice barely rose above a whisper, knowing that Taurik would still hear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no need for quiet; Talys was fourteen stories below in the shade gardens, likely wading in the freshwater pools with other children of her age. It felt as if Sam were trying to keep the Universe from hearing him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am thinking of resigning my position aboard the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enterprise,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Taurik said, placing his cup on the tray so he could turn and face Sam. “Starfleet has offered to let me serve in the Vulcan Shipyards; they would welcome a subspace engineer with field experience.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam nodded, again looking at his fingernails. Taurik looked too, the strong hands with square palms and callus-tipped fingers. Sam was a beautiful person. Fair eyes and dark hair, a smile that shined like a beacon. Alyssa Ogawa once had a small crush on him, unrequited because of Sam’s flirtatious nature and her blooming relationship with Andrew Powell. Taurik also admitted to a liminal physical attraction, though he had gone through with his marriage to L’Del. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was not just tradition that had bound him; he had loved her. But their love had not been without difficulty. Her reluctance to embrace his Human, Bajoran, and Trill friends had driven a subtle wedge between them that grew each time he was on-planet. Her lack of worldly experience grew into a gall, and her treatment of his sister-in-law, a Human woman, had shone a harsh light on L’Del’s deficits. Though he had smoothed over the incident in the desert he had felt a lingering sense of shame at L’Del’s behaviour. He questioned if it would ever come between him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That question had been answered, along with all others, when she died in Shi’Kahr. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“T?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik blinked, coming back to attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you hear what I said?” Sam asked, his voice tender. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am sorry. I did not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. Mirroring Taurik. “I said, I would be willing to resign and stay here with you. Starfleet doesn’t need a planet-bound pilot, but Yelas Fleet does. And I like wave-hopping. There’s no warp wake to avoid or telescope arrays gone rogue.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik felt two things simultaneously: his stomach ached with anxiety at the same time that his heart ached with gratitude. His countenance remained calm, and he blinked slowly to hide the war of emotions within him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His relationship with Sam had undergone many iterations. They had met at Starfleet Academy, living next door to one another for their freshman and sophomore years; third-year students could choose their roommates, and they chose each other. Their affinity had been organic, growing from a brotherhood of shared experience. Later, their assignments to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enterprise-D</span>
  </em>
  <span> confirmed, they had gone to the Mission District to celebrate, and Sam kissed Taurik at the end of the evening. Honest, chaste, he had leaned into the sensation without thinking it monumental. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then there had been years of death and grief, in which he and Sam often turned toward one another; he honestly thought they had put that hard half decade behind them when the Dominion War ended. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nirak. Fool.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taurik looked at his friend, the earnest offer, the lines of his shoulders as he sat forward. Held his breath as though Sam were holding words in his mouth, as delicate as morning sunlight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to say yes, with all of his being.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But what came from his mouth was “I would not ask you to end your Starfleet career for me, Sam. Nor would Talys. I welcome you, but I cannot choose for you. Think and choose carefully.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Starfleet offers sabbaticals for up to three Terran years,” Sam said, reaching forward to take Taurik’s hand briefly in his. Telepathic energy glowed warm between them, and Taurik almost smiled. “No repercussions, and I can keep my rank. Please let me stay with you for that time, at least.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again, Taurik hesitated. He turned his hand to grasp Sam’s in his own. Humans called this the equivalent of a Vulcan kiss, but it was a deeper gesture than that. This intimacy had no comparison. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam felt like home, his heart open, excited, concerned, warm, loving. No uncertainty. Staying with Taurik and Talys was what he wanted, to his core. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And along the touch came the thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>please say yes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Taurik said, answering aloud. "Yes, from both of us."<br/></span>
</p>
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